


Encore

by avianbrother



Series: What We Want, What We Deserve [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Breeding Kink, F/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Scent Kink, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27539053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianbrother/pseuds/avianbrother
Summary: Dante isn’t good at small talk; he’d always chalked it up to sheer luck that you went along with his cheesy flirting in the first place. He should say something, but he doesn’t know what. ‘Hey, long time, no see—wanna fuck again?’ Yeah, right.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Series: What We Want, What We Deserve [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012884
Comments: 15
Kudos: 173





	Encore

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to do a continuation of the first part, which led to this monster. I have plans of adding to this series, so stay tuned.

It’s been, what, five years? Something like that. But you’d recognize that silvery hair and red leather getup anywhere. His outfit is gaudier than before—some kind of cowboy boot chaps that would be ugly as sin on anyone else, but he makes it look good. He seems happier too, more relaxed and less moody than he was that night. Or maybe you’ve caught him on a good day. After you met him you did some digging, enough to know that he was in the devil hunting business and could probably snap you in half. Not that that stopped you from pining over him ever since.

Dante wrinkles his nose, stubbornly focusing on the magazine stand in front of him. There’s that prickly feeling again, someone who didn’t learn it’s not polite to stare. He’s not in the mood tonight; he just wants to find a good mag to jack to and head home, maybe have a few drinks.

Dante. That’s his name, you remember, like the book. Other memories come flooding back—riding on his motorcycle, getting eaten out, the way he made you come apart on his dick—it makes you clench your thighs, desire eclipsing any fear or doubt.

When the sensation doesn’t stop, Dante is ready to tell whoever it is to beat it. He catches a scent though that makes him pause, one he hasn’t smelled in years, not since…

He looks over right as you reach out to him, hand freezing in mid-air when your eyes meet. The two of you gawk like fools, silence drawing out between you in heartbeats. Dante remembers that face, remembers strawberry sundaes and milkshakes, the taste of you on his tongue, the warm press of your body as you snuggled against him. He remembers loneliness too, waking up to an empty bed because he always slept too damn late, and forgetting to get your number or give his before you slipped away. But you’re here now, with that same blush on your cheeks and puppy eyes that made his heart melt the first time.

He mutters your name, gently taking your hand. You smile, giddy that he still remembered after all these years. You’d forgotten just how handsome he was, and he’d only gotten better with age.

“Hey,” he says, “haven’t seen you in forever. You, uh, doing anything?” Smooth. Real fucking smooth. He smiles, fixes his hair, hoping you won’t catch how much you’ve thrown him off.

“No, not really,” you admit. “But if you’re not busy, I was thinking we could go somewhere and… catch up?” Maybe he’ll want to fuck, maybe he won’t. Either way, you do want to talk, get to know him beyond that wonderful roll in the sheets. You leave it vague, let him interpret it however he wants.

Are you asking to—? Probably. At least, he hopes you are. But he doesn’t want to jump right to fooling around, not yet. He has _some_ manners. So he suggests getting a bite to eat, and you seem to know just the place as you drag him to your car. It’s a pretty number, painted the same shade as his coat.

“Nice color,” he says with a sly look, and your cheeks turn red to match.

“Coincidence,” you say, but there’s no fire behind it and you both know it. He’s quiet during the ride, watching the setting sun fade and other cars blur by.

When you’re not paying attention, he sneaks glances at you. You’ve matured, same as him, and your hair is different. You’re plumper, too, soft around the middle from work, stress, and life, and it only makes him want you _more_. His demon was already chomping at the bit to put a claim on what he didn’t years ago, now it wants nothing more than to breed and prove he’s a good mate that’ll keep you fed and loved. But he can’t. So he holds out until you pull up to the same old diner where he met you, and the sheepishness at your own sentimentality is enough to get him to rein in his urges.

You pick a corner booth instead of the counter this time. He slides in next to you, his leg brushing against yours. The waitress comes by, takes your orders—a strawberry sundae for him and a shake for you—then leaves.

Dante isn’t good at small talk; he’d always chalked it up to sheer luck that you went along with his cheesy flirting in the first place. He should say something, but he doesn’t know what. ‘Hey, long time, no see—wanna fuck again?’ Yeah, right. He jiggles his leg, staring at the patterns in the cheap linoleum tabletop while gears turn in his head. To his surprise, you break the silence first.

“I’m sorry I never visited you again.” It’s a weight off your shoulders to finally say it aloud. “I wanted to see you, but I just…I was scared, I guess. It was all so different, and I figured that maybe you only wanted a one-time thing.”

He watches you bite your lip, brows furrowed as you try to find the right words. Still the shy, nervous girl he met.

“I looked you up after that, found the number for your shop. Thought about dropping by once or twice.” You shrug. “Never got up the courage.”

You look at him, trying not to cry or fall apart. It’s pathetic, how many nights you’ve spent getting off to the thought of him. You place your hand over his and gently squeeze.

“I’m sorry.”

God, why did you have to be so sweet? He sighs and smiles softly, shaking his head. “It’s fine, sweetheart.” He didn’t have it in him to be mad.

The waitress returned with your food, so you set the conversation aside for now. Immediately, Dante took up a spoon and dug in, smearing whipped cream and strawberry sauce on his lips. Some things never change, you suppose. You take the cherry from your milkshake and dangle it in front of him by the stem.

“Want it?”

He swallows his ice cream then snaps up the cherry, stem and all, right from your fingers. Face scrunched in concentration, he does something strange with his mouth that you can’t figure out. Then his mouth pops open, tongue sticking out so you can see the cherry stem sitting there, tied into a perfect knot. Your brows shoot up.

“Ta-da~,” he says with a wink.

“Damn. I already knew you were good with your mouth, but...” you trail off. Dante spits out the stem then goes back to devouring his sundae.

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“So how have you been?” you ask, changing the subject before you combust. He shrugs.

“Same old, same old. You already know about the, uh, _real_ business. Just cleaned up a mess in that little island, Fortuna. How about you? Any bank robberies or wacky hijinks I should know about?”

You frown, swirling your shake with your straw. “No, not really.” It had been nothing but bills to pay, work to get done, just mundane life shit. You told him as much, mentioning how you had to move places for a bit for job stuff, how that was another reason you hadn’t gone looking for him. As dull as it was, Dante listened through all of it, a hint of sadness on his face.

“Could be worse,” he throws out. “Did you have a boyfriend or anything?”

For a second, he thinks you’re gonna slap him. He’d deserve it too, for digging into your love life like you were his. You look stunned, blinking owlishly at him before shaking your head.

“N-no, no boyfriends. I tried seeing a couple guys but it…never lasted.” Heat rises in your cheeks. “They couldn’t hold a candle to you.”

 _That_ almost has him choking on his strawberries. Shit, he’s close to taking you here and now, public indecency be damned. His demon knows you’re not spoken for and it wants to take advantage of that while it can. But he wants to savor this, take things slowly—he has to play his cards right like he did before and ease you into it.

He waits until you’re both finished with food and pay to put his arm around your waist and lead you outside. That little bit of contact makes you shiver, and the smell of arousal comes back in full force. He doesn’t know how to ask the question without it coming out crude or jumbled. Instead he trails his hand down to your hip, still far enough away from your ass to seem innocent. He looks at you, watching your expression as he squeezes.

You gaze up at him, studying the way his hair changes under the hazy glow of neon lights. His expression is soft, questioning. The press of his body against yours is comforting, and you wonder why you ever left his embrace. There’s no motorcycle nearby, so you jingle your keys and offer them.

“Got a preference?” you ask. He grins, taking the keys and opening the passenger door.

“Ladies first.”

You slide in while he takes the wheel. It’s not the same as riding behind him, but you enjoy it just the same. While his focus is on the road, you reach over to grip his thigh, rubbing dangerously close to his clothed bulge. He gasps, swerving slightly before he manages to pull himself together, jaw clenched as he slams on the gas.

The two of you reach Devil May Cry in record time. Dante is frozen in his seat, eyes shut as he shudders. When he opens them again, they catch the light like a predator’s. He slips out and heads for the door while you follow behind. The second you’re both inside, he has you pinned to the door, nuzzling the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. He nips and kisses along the spot, drawing a whimper out of you. He gives a last quick peck on the cheek before nudging past to lock up and switch the sign off. Then he pulls you close, squeezing your ass and lifting you up. On instinct, you wrap your arms and legs around him.

He carries you to his room, kicking the door open and shut behind him. You’re practically shaking with excitement and, shit, his heart is fluttering in his chest because this is all unfolding like a live-action replay of that night. He sets you down on the edge of his bed, sinking to his knees between your legs. You’re looking at him like he put the stars in the sky, like he’s holding your heart in his hands—hell, maybe he is—and it hits like a punch to the gut just how much you both needed this, needed each other. You’re waiting for him to make the first move, set the pace.

Dante’s touch is light, barely noticeable as his hands ghost down your thighs. He takes one leg and pulls off your shoe, setting it aside then doing the same for the other, like you’re his Cinderella. He massages your foot, a fond, doting expression on his face. This feels too homey, too intimate for what the situation really is, and you greedily savor it while you can. No regrets, not tonight.

His hands trail back up, and he presses a kiss to each knee as he rises, reaching for the waistband of your bottoms and panties and helping you out of those too. He parts your folds, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he teases your clit with flicks of his tongue. You suck in a breath and shake your head, fisting his hair to tug him away. You don’t want to cum yet, you want to keep this slow dance going. He seems to understand, squeezing the meat of your thighs before sliding his hands under your shirt. The two of you work together to tug it off, then your bra. He pauses, his gaze lingering on your breasts. He cups them, massaging them in circles as you sigh and relax. It’s chilly in this place, while every part of him is warm and engulfing; the contrast between the two gives you goosebumps.

Dante mouths at your cold nipples, using just enough teeth to make you hiss. You run your fingers through his hair as he sucks hickeys all over your tits. At some point he stops, fondling your chest, your hips, then your stomach. He squeezes the plump flesh. “Damn, you’re so fucking _soft_ ,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

You blush, unable to think of a response besides pulling him into a kiss. _Thank you_ , you say with tangling tongues and mouths that only part for a second of air before joining once more. _Thank_ _you_ , you say with a desperation that can only be conveyed in caresses. You want to tell him he makes you feel brave, tell him he feels safe, tell him a million other things that you haven’t the words or the time for. But you think he understands when he pulls you into his lap and presses his straining cock against your heat with a stifled groan and eyes that say _please_.

Fuck, he wishes he could keep this going, draw out the foreplay even longer, but his dick is begging for relief. Dante shows you just how bad he wants you, nearly cums from the feeling of you squirming against him. He almost whines when he parts from you so he can strip. If he could, he’d take his time, put on a show for you. It feels like he is though, the way you’re watching him, biting your lip in anticipation.

Once he’s naked, you gesture for him to lay down and he obeys. Pre-cum is beading on the tip of his cock; you stroke him and smear it along his shaft. You’d nearly forgotten how big he was. You look up at him shyly.

“I never got to return the favor last time.”

He frowns, brows drawn together in worry. “You don’t have to. It’s a lot to—”

“I know, but…” You flush, unable to meet his gaze. “I…really want to. I wanna try.”

You grip his cock with those tiny little hands and he fucking _moans_ , trying to hold back but he _can’t_ , he’s not built to resist temptation. He bucks his hips, giving permission. He watches you take him, your hot, tight mouth wrapping around the head, swallowing as far as you can go and stopping halfway down his length. It’s a valiant effort and he’s impressed you can even take that much. Whatever doesn’t fit, you please with your hands. He closes his eyes and focuses on the sensations, putting himself at your mercy.

You can feel his dick hit the back of your throat, yet you don’t stop, _refuse_ to stop until he cums in your mouth. It’s hard to breathe and you’re drooling all over him, but the way his eyes roll back and the _noises_ he makes are absolutely worth it. His fingers thread through your hair—he doesn’t try to throatfuck you, just tries to ground himself and give you a little encouragement. He lets out a stream of breathy curses that’s broken up by bitten, muttered apologies when he can’t stop himself from thrusting.

“Fuck, that’s it. Don’t—don’t stop, babe,” he pants. You hum around the cock in your mouth and it makes him come apart even more, clenching and unclenching his hands as he tries not to shove you down.

You suck the tip and tease the slit with your tongue. You pull out every trick you can think of, dragging your nails across his thighs and fondling his sack while you take him as deep as possible.

You’re so focused on your task that you don’t notice he’s getting close.

Dante is trying to form the words but there’s a disconnect between his brain and his mouth and all that’s coming out are pants and grunts. You’re on him like a lamprey and it feels _amazing_ , but he knows you can’t swallow his load. His hips stutter, and you seem to take that as a sign to pick up the pace, and it’s the light scrape of teeth that pushes him over the edge.

“I’m cu—babe— _shit!_ ” That’s all he manages to get out before he cums and tugs you away. You get a mouthful and the rest spurts on your face. You swallow it all then finally catch your breath, pressing your forehead to his thigh.

Dante stares at the ceiling. His dick is already hard and raring to go again while his mind is still recovering. After he pulls his braincells together, he glances at you, wincing at the amount of spunk on your face. He wipes it up—or tries to, anyways. It just gets smeared around your cheeks. He sighs, sits up, and grabs a corner of the bedding, cradling your face in one hand as he wipes it away. He’ll wash the sheets later (if he remembers).

“Thanks,” you mumble when he’s finished. You’re surprised with a kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth so he can taste himself. You melt into it, arms winding around him.

He’s proud. He knows that all of him is a lot to handle and at this point in life he’d come to grips with the fact he’s not gonna check most of the boxes on his fuck-it list. Hell, he didn’t get his cherry popped til he was almost thirty. But you? You’re throwing everything out the window. Dante doesn’t know why his mind and body are so wrapped up in you, so fixated. It’s more than loneliness; loneliness he can sate with a bottle of whiskey and maybe a quickie, but he doesn’t want or pine. He _can’t_ want. But his instincts are telling him otherwise, his demon whispering how good it’d feel to have you, wake up beside you every day, and he has to trust that because…because…

You’re wriggling in his lap, rubbing against his still-hard cock, eager for more. Any higher thought has completely left the building. He digs his fingers into your hips then pins you beneath him, smirking at the way you whimper and your body practically begs for him. He gives you a peck to the cheek before rummaging through his bedside drawers for condoms.

A gentle nudge gets his attention. Dante tilts his head and looks at you. “What is it?”

You swallow thickly, unsure how to phrase your request. Fiddling with the blankets, you take a deep breath before meeting his gaze. “I’m on birth control now,” you say. He goes stock still above you. “You can fuck me raw, if you want.”

There’s a beat of silence before he’s ravaging you with kisses, trailing down to the crook of your neck where he bites and sucks the tender flesh.

“You mean it?” he asks. Please say you mean it. You nod. He grins and manhandles you into position, lifting your hips in line with his cock so he can tease it against your folds. You’re already slick for him and you’re both grateful for it. He doesn’t waste any more time and starts to press inside you.

It’s easier than he expected, meeting little resistance and suddenly he’s buried to the hilt before he realizes it. He pauses for a moment once he’s fully seated, then experimentally pulls out and thrusts back in, smooth as silk. “Wow…that’s different.”

“I may have…gotten a set of large toys since I met you,” you admit sheepishly. A second passes then a wicked smirk stretches across his face.

“Oh? Is that so?” he teases. He pulls out then rams you on his cock, making you cry out. He throws your legs over his shoulders and fucks you leisurely. “You miss this dick? Huh, babygirl?”

You nod, tears in your eyes as you just let go, all the emotions pouring out. “Yes! Missed you, missed all of you.” Embarrassment, dignity—none of that mattered. You weren’t gonna be some shy, wilting ‘good girl’ anymore. You’d tasted what it meant to be daring and you enjoyed it, so you might as well be honest about what a wanton creature you’d become.

The look in your eyes and the words on your tongue are another shot to his heart. As Dante stoops to wipe your tears away, he pins you into a mating press. You moan at the change in angle, leaning into his touch.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he soothes, gently rocking his hips. He’d always been good to his fleeting partners, made sure they enjoyed themselves even if they never came back for seconds. Except this is a matter of pride. He’s gonna do more than make you come, he’s gonna prove himself to be the best damn lay you ever had and keep you sipping from his glass. _Only_ his. Neither part of him, human or demon, wanted to see you cry. If it means taking you slow and sweet, he’ll do it.

His thrusts are slow yet deep. Every time he bottoms out, he grinds in a way that rubs your clit and curls your toes. When your eyes aren’t watery and you relax beneath him, he picks up the pace, the rhythmic _slap slap_ of his pelvis against yours filling the room. You brace your hands on his chest, in awe of the way he takes you, handles you like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Bent in half like this, you can barely see over his shoulder. He makes you feel so small and safe and precious.

Eventually, he gets rougher, his movements grow harsh and desperate. You moan and whine, eyes fluttering shut as you give yourself over to the sensations. It’s a mix of pleasure and pain when his cock presses against your cervix, but you don’t care because he’s so damn thick and you see stars every time he hits your sweet spot. God, you missed this. The toys are nothing compared to him. The drag of his cock as he pulls out sends electric jolts through you; you’re so damn wet you can feel it leaking down your ass cheeks and pooling on the sheets.

“P-please! Fuck!” you plead, nails digging into his pecs. You don’t know what you’re begging for, you just need _more_.

“As you wish~.”

Dante pulls you closer—you feel like you’re going to break. He fucks you like a man possessed, driving you into the mattress. The only thing keeping you in place is him. He growls, brows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on jackhammering you. You gasp and cry, but you cling to him. He kisses you sloppily, and he savors how your walls tighten around him.

“This what you’ve been waiting for all this time?” he asks. “Me to rail you like you deserve?”

Words are beyond you. All you can manage is a frantic nod and a whimper. That familiar coil in your gut winds tighter and tighter, so close to snapping. Your toes curl and you think your legs are shaking from all the tension.

Then you’re seeing white.

Your climax hits you so suddenly. You’re crying out and writhing beneath him, clamping around him so hard he thinks you’ll snap his dick off and he _loves it_. He nearly blows his load right then and there, but he manages to hold out, fucking you through it so he can enjoy the overwhelming sensations. Finally he catches the cloying scent of your cum and he can’t take it anymore. He snarls, pressing so hard on your legs it hurts as he lets the aftershocks of your orgasm milk him to completion.

Somehow, he manages not to collapse on top of you, loosening his grip on your legs and propping himself on one hand. It takes a bit for you to come back from your floating cloud of bliss, breathing deep and waiting for your heart to stop racing.

“Hey,” he says with a smile. You look at him and smile back, brushing stray hair from his face despite the fact your limbs feel like jelly.

“Hey yourself.”

His cock decides to say hello too, twitching against your sensitive walls.

Your eyes go wide, looking at where they two of you are still joined then back to him. “Wha—How??? You’ve already—”

“I know, I know.” He shrugs. “What can I say, this ride is open all night.”

You don’t really want to stop, but you don’t think you can handle another round like that. “Umm…if you’re not _too_ rough…”

You let out a yelp as he picks you up and arranges you both. He flips you on your side and snuggles behind you, keeping his cock warm inside you. You take a moment to stretch your legs before he carefully drapes one over his own, spreading you open just enough for him to reach down and trail his fingers along your sore pussy lips. Cum slowly leaks from your hole. He lazily swirls his hips, trying to grind his seed deeper into your womb. You sigh and relax against him, letting out a hiss when he teases too close to your clit. After a while he traces upward, rubbing circles along your abdomen and fondling your tits now and then. His warm breath fans across your neck, a ticklish but comforting sensation.

There’s a pleasant, numbing hum in the back of his mind, his demon voicing its satisfaction. You haven’t slipped away this time, still here in his arms and plugged up with his cock. He’s content with laying like this, even if his body says otherwise. He’d never say it aloud, but he aches for these simple, human moments and tender touches. People always want things from him: want him to clean, want his money, want him to kill, want him to fix them or their problems. They rarely want _him_. And if they do, they don’t wanna stay for one reason or another. You might, though.

Dante looks at you. You’re staring off into space, thinking about something. You haven’t tried to smack him or wiggle out of his grasp, so he takes that as a good sign. Should he ask? Should he wait for you to bring it up? Shit, he really wasn’t good at this sort of thing.

Just as he makes up his mind to ask, you glance over your shoulder at him. “Dante?” you ask.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You shift and, as much as he hates it, he pulls out so you can turn over to face him. Your brows are drawn in confusion, he watches you trace nonsense patterns in the hair growing on his chest.

You hadn’t noticed before how much he’s changed. He’s got stubble lining his jaw and hair on his chest now, coming down into a treasure trail. Letting your hands wander helps you gather your thoughts, untangle the feelings that had been knotted and buried but not forgotten.

“I don’t…” you hesitate, trying to figure out what to say and how. “I don’t really know you. But I do like you.”

He strokes your cheek with warm, calloused hands that feel like home. His pretty blue eyes stare into you.

“I’d like to get to know you,” you continue, “go on some dates maybe. I don’t want to leave like before. Is…that okay?”

It’s more than okay, he wants to say. “I’m not good at this,” he admits. “But I’d like that. We could start with a pizza date over at this joint two blocks down. Best garlic bread in town.”

You raise an eyebrow. “ _The_ best?”

“Best in the world.”

“Hmm, you’ll have to prove it to me, mister demon slayer.”

He wraps you in his arms and pulls you close, inhaling your scent and nipping at your neck. “Challenge accepted. And I expect a nice big prize when I win.”

You laugh, snuggling against him. He manages to yank the covers out from under the two of you and bundles it around you both.

Everything is new and uncertain, full of shaky promises and tangled feelings. But that’s okay, he decides. He told himself that he didn’t deserve love, couldn’t get attached. He’s willing to take whatever life throws at him if it means having what he’s denied himself for so long. Not just for one night, but every night. For as long as it lasts.


End file.
